Unwelcomed Obsession (Lily Collins)

Chapter Two

Chapter 2

(Stalker's POV)
I left Rylie a little present at the art show downtown. She didn't seem as excited and pleased with me as I had hoped. It's five A.M. now and I am buying her favorite flower.

Arum-lilies.

I have another picture for her, I want her to notice me.

"$10.15." says the woman behind the counter. She doesn't hand me the flowers until I hand her the money. I peel the bouquet from her crippled fingers and walk out of the old flower shop. Inside it smells like an earth aroma, outside it smells like pollution. Smoke creates a haze in the air from the factories nearby. I get in my car and gingerly place the flowers on the passenger seat. I start the car and drive down Rosemont Dr. until I find Birch St.

I drive slowly as to not run over any kids leaving for school. I drive up the road until I find the small dark brown brick, suburban style house on the corner of the street with the large white oak tree and the tire swing. I lean over the steering wheel and glance up at the master bedroom window.

Curtains closed, lights off. Rylie is still asleep.

I open the car door and pick up the flowers before quietly closing the door. I step carefully on the stone walk path leading up to the door.

I crawl up the creaky steps of the wooden porch and lay the flowers down and the photo carefully placed leaning against them. I dart back to my car and pull it around the side of the street where I wait.

(Rylie's POV)

Something falls to the floor. I throw myself up in bed and glance around my room. Everything seems to be in place. I look at my nightstand and then to the book on the floor.

"Ugh, really? And I was so hoping it was a burglar." I say sarcastically to Houdini. He only glances at me through a half open eye, from where he lays on his perch. Houdini is my eight-month old brown, black and white tabby. He can disappear and create havoc faster than you can say "Marco".

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair is in disarray, sticking out everywhere I have dried drool on my chin, and I think I socked myself fin the face sometime last night.

"Holy..." I say brushing the light purple bruise under my cheek with my fingertips. I sigh and throw myself out of the bed. Just another day at work, before I come home, pay bills and read a book or laugh at the Bachelorette. I take my brush quickly down my hair to untangle it. I press the round button on my phone and it comes to life. One new message. I tap the message and it opens up.

I glance at the sender.

Unknown.

I read the message.

Good morning, beautiful.

It's probably some guy that thought he got lucky and scored some girls number, welcome to the harsh reality buster. I shake my head and trudge down the stairs. My life couldn't get any more insipid than this. my life is always the same, then again that's normally how I like it. I like to be prepared for anything and everything. But it gets a little dull when you wake up every day at six like clockwork, drink a cup of coffee, skip breakfast, go to work, leave work at seven, pick up or order in, and then watch the bachelorette only to wake up and do it all again tomorrow.

My life sucks.

I pour myself a cup of coffee, with one hand on the counter while I drink. I place the cup down with a clank and stalk toward the front door.

My book still hasn't arrived.

I've been expecting a book for weeks now, and it still hasn't come. I open the door and nearly step on a bouquet of cala lilies. There is a large piece of paper with it. A photo. I pick them both up and I turn the picture over.

It's a photo of my bedroom window, it's from last night. I know because I am wearing the exact same purple checkered flannel pj's in the photo I am now. It is dark outside and the photo was taken at an angle, but you can still see the light in my bedroom pour through the window, which creates a silhouette around my body. The picture shakes in my hands and I have to hold it steady with both. My heart is beating at a high rate. I turn the photo over.

In neat, but quickly scrawled out hand writing it says:

"What light, through yonder window breaks?"

9 .~�D�ƒ